


Geode

by Aenaria



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, SO MUCH FLUFF, i wanted something sweet, museum makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 22:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: There’s a split second of time where the world pauses for a moment, possibilities and their consequences spiraling out in every direction, a million universes born of this moment.  “Can I get you a new drink to make up for it?” Steve blurts out, which makes her smile beneath the cat shaped mask.“Yeah.  That’d be great.”A growing relationship, told through museum visits and soft moments in time that reveal the true self behind the masks.(a.k.a. there was a prompt going around about people making out in museums.  Someone tossed Steve and Darcy’s names in there, and, well, I couldn’t resist.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlynnisIsta8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlynnisIsta8/gifts).



> For all of you who have asked for museum based makeouts featuring Steve and Darcy, here you go, as promised. ;) Dedicated to Glynnisi - I was supposed to write her a pinch hit story for the Shieldshock Valentine’s day exchange, but that story just wasn’t flowing. At all. But I ended up borrowing a few elements from the prompt and incorporated them into some of this story, and came up with something I think is fluffy and sweet and makes me happy. Hopefully, you enjoy this little bit of fluff as well. :) ~~Note that the story is unbeta’ed and was written under the influence of hard cider, so needless to say any mistakes are entirely my fault and this will definitely be cleaned up and possibly retitled before actually getting posted to AO3.~~ Okay, the story has now actually been beta’ed, but the title is staying.
> 
> Gets a little, mildly nsfw at one point, so to be safe I’m rating this as M, even though it probably doesn’t merit it.
> 
> And as cider clearly makes me babble, I’m shutting up now and letting the story speak for itself.

Like all good things in Steve’s life, this one started with a party and a monkey suit.  

Oh, who is he kidding, nothing good came of that silly costume the USO stuffed him into, despite the amount of posters that were produced showing off the merits of his physique.  But it’s a Stark Industries sponsored Valentine’s Day masked ball for charity at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, of all places, and if the downside to not going will be having to endure Pepper’s most disappointed look aimed in his direction, he’ll suck it up, put on the damn domino mask, and take one for the team.    


Then again, sometimes these events can surprise him.  Or at least the people in attendance can be entirely surprising and intriguing and just make him want to know more about them.

It’s not exactly a meet-cute, as Tony will call it later on, laughing at the memory of Steve’s misfortune.  Rather, it’s a combination of small errors that lead to a slightly drunken local assemblyman gesturing wildly with a full glass of champagne that ends up splashing over not just Steve, but also the young woman standing next to him in a cat-shaped mask decorated with tiny silver stars,  talking to Thor and some other people.  The young woman yelps and turns to give the assemblyman a glare, brushing away champagne from the cut-out slit running down the torso of her dress.

(Steve isn’t looking, he swears it.  It’s just that the movement of her hands is distracting.)

Steve digs a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to the woman, who takes it with a grateful smile and turns to mop herself up discreetly.  The assemblyman is hustled off by an embarrassed assistant who just shakes his head and mutters statements of apology.  “I am so sorry about that,” Steve says, trying to get all of the champagne off of his suit jacket.

“It’s not your fault some other jerk doesn’t know his limits,” the woman says with a scoff and an eyeroll.  “Thanks for the handkerchief,” she continues, handing the now-damp rag back to him with a dubious look.    


“You’re welcome.”    


There’s a split second of time where the world pauses for a moment, possibilities and their consequences spiraling out in every direction, a million universes born of this moment.  “Can I get you a new drink to make up for it?” Steve blurts out, which makes her smile beneath the cat shaped mask.

“Yeah.  That’d be great.”

Behind her Thor looks oddly smug, and raises his glass in Steve’s direction with a nod of approval.

They spend the rest of the gala sitting on a bench in front of a Jackson Pollock painting and talking, masks resting on the leather cushion between them.  And it...it’s  _ good _ , Steve thinks.  Entirely unexpected, but connections can be found in the most random of places.  Her name is Darcy, he learns, assistant to Jane Foster, former poli-sci major, technically a New York native though this is the first time in years she’s actually lived in the state.  A bundle of sass wrapped up in a small package...and a kind heart over all of that.  Not to mention attractive, in a simple black dress with a cutout in the front that shouldn’t make his mouth go dry, but it does anyway.

**********

Darcy fully admits to herself that Steve intrigues the hell out of her.  Yeah, there’s the whole Captain America thing, but that’s just gloss on the surface, the mask that he’s making sure people see before they can get to the squishy insides.  To the dry as the desert sense of humor and steel backbone, and something innately good about him.  That’s something that she’s discovering originates with Steve Rogers; Captain America got it from him, not the other way around.    


He’s kind of lost, Darcy thinks, stealing a glance at him as he stares at the painting on the wall in front of them.  Even though it’s been a few years since he’s woken up in the future, he still walks around like he’s not quite there.  “What are you thinking?” she asks, tipping her chin in the direction of the picture.  She knows that once upon a time he was an art student, not that long before these pictures were being created.  Hell, given Pollock’s history there’s every chance that Steve could have run into him somewhere in New York back in the day.

“It’s alive,” Steve says after a while.  “Kinda rough, scratching at the edges, but always moving.  And army green,” he finishes with a smirk.

“It makes me think of static,” Darcy says, turning her own eyes towards the painting.  “Like an old TV that’s been turned to a channel without reception.  But if you keep looking at it you’ll spot the moving pictures inside of it, swirling around and then disappearing again.”  Her eyes slide back to Steve, lips pursing for a brief moment.  “You know, the Brooklyn Museum’s got a pop art exhibit that I’ve been wanting to go see.  You in?”

**********

He kisses her for the first time on their third museum date, in a shadowy corner of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in one of the little alcoves of the Temple of Dendur.  The weight of history is all around her, and yet, Darcy feels like she’s staring straight into the future for once.

**********

“I mean, you can’t deny it’s adorable,” Tony says a few months later as he’s finessing the final plans for the magnetic shield holder for Steve’s arm.  “You and the lab assistant going on cute little museum dates, probably rounded out by a shared milkshake afterwards.  It’s like the best of 1950s innocent Americana propaganda brought to life.”  

Steve frowns, wanting to object to the whole innocent part of it, because dammit, they’re both adults and deserve to be treated as such, complete with all of the aspects that an adult relationship entails.  Then again, he’s never been one to kiss and tell.    


“People seem to be under the impression that all we do is look at art and hold hands,” Steve whispers to Darcy that night as he slides inside her, a slow stretch that makes her exhale a gasp and dig her heels into his thighs.  “I didn’t want to disabuse them of the notion.”

“They should know that good art combines all of those things,” Darcy replies, running her hands up his abdomen to curve over the muscles in his shoulders.  Then back down his arms until she laces their fingers together, tugging them up over her head as she arches her back, nipples high and tight and dragging against the skin of his chest.  “The sacred and the profane, the messy and the precise, the, uh....”  Words fail her as Steve thrusts again, her eyes falling shut and fingernails digging into the back of his hands.  “What was I saying?  I forget.”

“Good.”  Steve dips his head down and kisses her hard, driving the rest of the words right out of her brain as he keeps moving.

**********

It’s one of those strange hours for a museum, the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, when the room is filled with ancient arts from faraway lands, yet nearly devoid of human life.  Liminal space, Darcy thinks as they wander through, not quite one thing or the other but something entirely new.  Normally they wouldn’t even be at a museum on a weekday afternoon, but Steve’s only just returned from a long, brutal mission and Jane was kind enough to give her the day off so they could do something that helps him to feel less like a robot soldier and more like a human once more.  The cold sleet outside that keeps rattling against the large windows lining the gallery seems to have done a great job of keeping people away from the Met that day, even though this is New York - it’s rare to find a place this quiet, even on a rainy day in the middle of Manhattan. Maybe especially then.    


Somewhere there’s a docent wandering around, but whoever it is, they’re discreet enough to not be spotted.  The calm and quiet is enough to allow Steve to slump down a little, like he’s shaking off the blanket of command from his shoulders, and he sits on the bench, staring around the room at the fine wooden statues that loom over them, keeping watch like silent sentries.  “Feel better?” Darcy asks, running a hand over the back of his neck.    


“Getting there.”  He shakes his head, steepling his fingers over his mouth.  “Sometimes it just feels like an exercise in futility.  That no matter what you do you can’t help everybody.”

“Well, you probably can’t help every single person.  That’s just impossible,” Darcy points out.    


“The head knows that.  The heart’s kinda stupid sometimes, though.”

“No, it’s not.”  She leans over, presses a damp kiss to his shoulder.  “I like your heart exactly how it is.”

Steve places a hand on her face and pulls her mouth to his, kissing her deeply.  His other hand goes around her waist and tugs her into his lap, bringing her as close as he can given the setting.  There’s nothing innocent about these kisses, Darcy knows, even though they’re just one of the many variations of kisses that they’ve shared.  These kisses are full of intent and promise, and if they weren’t technically in public Darcy would throw him down on that bench right there and go for a ride.

Then she feels Steve’s hand skate up her bare leg, trailing underneath her skirt until his fingers are tracing the lace edging where her panties meet skin.  “Really?” she mumbles against his mouth, even though she is most certainly not protesting.    


“Shh,” he whispers back, two fingers dipping below the lace to glide along her folds.  “Don’t want to attract attention.”  His other arm goes around her waist, holding her in place as he spreads the growing wetness around and up to her clit, running the pad of his finger over the hood.  Darcy just sinks her teeth into lower lip and nods, shifting her seat so that he’s got a little bit more room to work.  And damn, if he doesn’t know exactly how to touch her, a finger pressing firmly up against her g-spot while his thumb runs in tight circles around her swollen bud, winding her up tighter and tighter.  Darcy allows her eyes to fall shut, revelling in the feelings building up inside of her and directing all of her focus on them.

At one point Steve pauses, his hand retreating to her knee.  She can feel him trying to modulate his breathing under her, and she opens her eyes to see the docent slowly strolling past them.  And while the docent doesn’t seem to be looking at them with any sort of suspicion, Darcy can’t even bring herself to breathe until he’s gone past them.  “Too close,” she sighs.

“Should I keep going?” Steve asks, flicking his tongue against the shell of her ear, which he knows full well will ratchet up her arousal and turn her to putty in his hands.    


“Don’t you dare stop,” Darcy replies, muffling her moan against his shoulder as his fingers find her center once more.  It doesn’t take much beyond that before she’s falling apart in his arms, clenching around his fingers and nearly ripping a hole in his shirt as she holds the noises back.  She can feel his soft smile against her forehead, and she runs her hand up through his hair once more, stretching up to nuzzle her nose against his.

The docent walks by once more, and this time it’s all too clear to see the suspicion in his face.  “We should probably move,” Steve whispers.    


Much to Darcy’s amusement, he has her walk directly in front of him until they’re safe in the cab, away from prying eyes who might comment on his substantially aroused state.  “Hey, it’s your own fault; this was entirely your idea,” she says around a giggle as she runs a hand up his thigh.  “We’ll be back at yours in fifteen minutes,” Darcy continues as she traces the seam with one fingernail.    


“I’m going to hold you to that,” Steve says, taking her hand and moving it to safer territory while Darcy just keeps giggling.

**********

While Darcy’s been to the Air and Space museum before (thank you, 8th grade class trip to Washington D.C. where one of her friends smuggled a naughty magazine onto the bus with them and they ended up breaking one of the beds in their hotel room because they were jumping from mattress to mattress and lied about it to the chaperones to stay out of trouble), she hasn’t experienced the Captain America exhibit yet.  But the curators had called up Steve to consult on a new addition to the exhibit - which apparently was just asking him to verify if the items they’d found were actually his or just someone trying to blow smoke up their asses - and they’d decided to make a little vacation out of it.  Some time that’s just for the two them, away from the familiar territory of New York and everyone who knows everything.

But the job comes first, of course, which leaves Darcy to wander idly through the fairly empty halls of the exhibit.  It’s never entirely empty, not given Steve’s popularity and the fact that the entire museum is a tourist’s highlight, but on this Wednesday morning, Darcy feels like she can slip between the other tourists without being noticed, blending into the background as just yet another person who’s there to partake in the spectacle.

Steve is notoriously quiet about his private life - much to the dismay of the paparazzi who went in expecting another Tony Stark and got someone entirely different.  Even so, word has gotten out to the gossip columns that he’d been seeing someone for quite a while now, though all they’ve been able to discover is that she’s female and brunette thanks to those few artsy photos of her shadowy profile Steve had put up on his Instagram page.  

It’s funny though, no one ever seems to pay attention to them in the New York City museums.  But that could be because it’s New York, Darcy thinks.  New Yorkers don’t get excited about anything (or at least they don’t let people see them get excited), and as soon as Steve slaps a baseball cap and a jacket on he’s just one more meathead in the crowd that they don’t notice.

But in Washington D.C. Darcy feels exposed.  Like there are eyes watching her from every direction, assessing her, determining her value and passing silent judgement that she’s not worthy of being Steve’s girlfriend.  And rationally, she knows that’s bullshit.  She’s entirely fucking worthy, and doesn’t even need to lift a hammer to prove it.  But the whispers through cupped hands behind her back have always gotten to her, long before she’d ever even known Steve.  Sometimes it’s hard to break through those years of old habits.    


“Whatever,” she mutters under her breath, wrapping her cardigan even more tightly.  “You are damn worthy.”

It’s hard to shake the feeling of creeping eyes on her, however, even if it’s probably only her head seeing things that aren’t there.  So Darcy hunts for a shadowy corner in order to take a few minutes to regain her equilibrium, and finds herself wandering into the room where the Peggy Carter interview is running on a continuous loop.  And boy, doesn’t that just make all the inadequacies come rushing back…  Still, Darcy plonks herself down on one of the benches; it’s dark and quiet in there, the perfect little escape from the outside world.

Peggy Carter is an entirely formidable woman, even when she looks like she’s on the verge of tears.  But then, it’s probably a natural response to have when one reminisces about the lost love of your life.  When did you know, Darcy thinks, that this person - this magnificent and imperfect wonder - was going to be the one to get under your skin like that?  That this person would be nothing less than the other half of your soul?    


Darcy has never been good with emotions.  She realized this long ago, and has accepted it as one of her deep flaws.  That it’s far easier to be brash and loud, to put the safe parts of her personality out there for everyone to see because the soul, that inner part of her that bruises and sometimes doesn’t want to cope with the world, is soft and squishy and gets hurt all too easily.  Why get hurt when you can get angry instead, has been the motto that’s gotten her over and through many rough times in her life.  But this approach to the world has sometimes made her a little out of touch with her own feelings, she admits (if only to herself).

How do you know when you’ve found  _ that person _ , the one who you don’t mind cracking open your skin in front of so that they can see the whole package of your emotions and not just the safe outer shell?

(Darcy studiously avoids thinking about the fact that Steve could be  _ that person _ for her, because emotions are tough and the deeper she looks the more in over her head she might find herself.  Romance is such a strange thing, in her experience.  But that doesn’t mean that it’s not good for her, that having that imperfect and wonderful compliment to her soul would make her more like the true self that she wants to be instead of that facade that the world sees.)

Ugh, she gets awfully maudlin once the caffeine wears off.  Darcy grimaces, and is incredibly grateful that the darkness of the film room keeps her hidden from the group of elderly ladies a couple of rows down from her commenting about how much they like Peggy’s suit outfit.  It’s better to focus on Peggy than on herself, anyway.  On the screen, Peggy makes a comment about how, even after his (supposed) death, Steve was always changing her life.   _ Ain’t that just the truth _ , Darcy thinks in full agreement.    


After a while Darcy needs to leave the movie room, because otherwise she might start crying at the intensity of Peggy’s emotions.  They’re not obvious, because Peggy is a consummate professional, but Darcy knows the type (she’s one herself, after all) - never let them see you sweat or see you cry.  So she wanders back out into the main exhibit, washing up in front of a display that outlines some of Peggy’s other accomplishments that weren’t related to her time with Captain America.  It’s only a matter of seconds, however, before she sees a shadow loom up next to her, followed quickly by soft footfalls that come to a stop next to hers.

When she looks up at Steve, it’s all too easy to see the strain on his face, even half hidden by the baseball cap he’s got shoved on his head.  His eyes are tight, mouth pulled into a slight frown.  His shoulders are hunched over, hands shoved into his pockets, and, at least for this moment in time, he looks a hell of a lot less intimidating than she’s ever seen him.  There’s no need to ask him how he feels when it’s written all over him, Darcy thinks.  So instead, she just waves a hand at the display in front of her and says, “She’s a hell of a woman.”

“That she is,” Steve replies, the frown dropping away from his lips for a moment and replaced by something far more soft and pensive.

“Come on.”  Darcy weaves her arm through his, tugging his body close to hers.  “Let’s get out of here and see some sunlight.”

It’s one of those days that moves slow like molasses, thick and lazy, traveling along without any actual aim and just spreading about instead.  It’s a good day, sunny and warm even though it’s late in November, and they stroll along the streets, wandering into bookshops and cafes and places that Darcy hopes won’t remind Steve of the past.  Anything to take that frowny look of his face, she thinks.  Eventually they head back to the hotel with the intention of getting ready for dinner...but the best of intentions are forgotten when Darcy all but pushes Steve back on the bed, and starts planting kisses down his torso, peeling back his sweater as he goes.  After that, room service is the only dinner option that either one of them has the energy for.

“I know what you’re doing,” Steve says afterwards as he stumbles out of bed towards where the room service menu is. 

“What am I doing?”  Darcy sits up, dragging the sheets around her shoulders and attempting to bring some semblance of order to her sex-tossed hair.  It’s a futile effort, but she has to try anyway. 

Steve arches an eyebrow at her and crawls back onto the bed, menu in hand.  “You know, you’re not as subtle as you think.”  He presses a swift, firm kiss to her mouth.  “It was a good day.  Thank you.”

Darcy smiles back at him, followed swiftly by the sound of her stomach grumbling.  “You’re very welcome.  Now feed me.”

“As you wish.”

The picture that gets posted to Steve’s Instagram later is a simple one, overlaid with a black and white filter that just emphasizes the shadows coming from the small lamp off in the distance of the shot.  The main feature of the photo, however, is the two hands tangled together, fingers intertwined, relaxed and resting on a pillow.  And while nothing else is visible aside from the extension of their forearms, the implication that there are two people on the other side of those hands, snuggled up and resting together, is a given.  The caption simply reads ‘a good ending to a good day.’

**********

She grabs his hand and tugs him into the shadowy rooms, a smile dancing around pink painted lips and the fall of dark hair curving over her shoulders as she looks back at him.  “This was always my favorite room as a kid,” Darcy says, “so let’s see if it holds the same appeal now that I’m supposedly an adult.”    


While Steve has been to the American Museum of Natural History before, both pre- and post-ice, this room is entirely new to him, and it is an impressive sight.  Most of the lighting in the Hall of Minerals comes from the cases full of stones in every shade in the rainbow, some carved and polished, others in a rough, crystalline natural state that gleam and glimmer amidst the shadows.  The dark walls and the carpeting fade into the background, leaving all of the attention on the stones.  In the center of the circular room there are a few circular steps leading up to a pedestal that’s got a massive multicolored block of a stone standing on it, a spotlight aimed on it from above.    


Darcy stops in front of a giant amethyst geode that’s nearly the same size as she is set into the wall, deep purple points reflecting off of her glasses as she tilts her head to take it in.  “I always liked the geodes best,” she says quietly, like if she were to speak any louder it’d disrupt the air inside of the room.  “Rough on the outside, but crack them open and they fucking  _ shine _ .”    


“Like taking off the mask and seeing the human behind it,” Steve murmurs, his mind going back to the first night they met nearly a year ago and that moment when the masks came off, leaving messy hair and smudged mascara in their wakes, making it that much easier to see the person there and make a real connection.    


“Bingo.”  Darcy reaches for his hand once more and tangles their fingers together, leading him to the next wall display.  “I used to have a rock collection as a kid, you know,” she blurts out, giving Steve a sheepish grin in the process.    


There’s something about the non-sequitur that’s so out of the blue and so entirely Darcy that Steve can’t help but smile back at her and back her against the wall between the geode displays, kissing her firmly enough until he’s certain that she understands exactly what he’s trying to say.

**Author's Note:**

> Some links to aid you in your enjoyment of the story:
> 
> <http://www.jackson-pollock.org/one-number31.jsp> (the Pollock painting)
> 
> <https://www.moma.org/explore/inside_out/2012/07/25/where-is-one-momas-jackson-pollock-conservation-project/> (the room I imagine Steve and Darcy sitting and talking in during that first meeting)
> 
> <http://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/permanent-exhibitions/earth-and-planetary-sciences-halls/harry-frank-guggenheim-hall-of-minerals> (the final museum room they go to, because this really is one of my favorite museum exhibits ever)
> 
> <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Frank_Guggenheim_Hall_of_Gems_and_Minerals>
> 
> <http://www.polyvore.com/valentines_day_inspiration/set?id=216562287> (Darcy’s outfit)
> 
> <https://www.pinterest.com/pin/245938829632437586/> (Darcy’s mask)
> 
> [My Tumblr.](http://aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com) Just because. ;)


End file.
